Tryptich
by Kirayoshi
Summary: An interlude between Somewhere I Have Never Traveled Books one and two. What's up with Angel, Xander, Cordy and Giles when Buffy comes back from Hell?
1. A Moment of Pure Joy

  
Disclaimers;  
Joss Whedon owns them and charts their destinies. I'm just having a little sport with them.  
  
Author's note;  
This is the first of three short pieces that will set up and advance subplots that I've started in my increasingly sprawling epic "Somewhere I Have Never Travelled". Now that Buffy's back from Hell in my fic, I can sit back and see how the supporting cast is doing. Buffy and Willow will figure in the background, and once I start SIHNT Book 2, we'll have a more solid foundation to work on. I hope.  
  
Rating; PG. Once I get back to the main story, it may go to R.  
  
Spoilers; "To Shansu In L.A.", 'Angel' Season finale  
  
Summary; How is Buffy doing, now that she's out of Hell? And what happened to change Angel forever when he helped rescue Buffy?  
  
  
TRIPTYCH   
by Kirayoshi  
  
part one;  
A Moment Of Pure Joy  
  
  
The following transcript is taken from the personal records of Rupert Giles; conversation with Buffy Summers, June 29, 2001;  
  
Giles; Well now, Buffy, it is good to see you out of the hospital.  
  
Buffy; You got that right, Giles.  
  
Giles; And I for one am glad that you are well. We've all missed you when you were gone.  
  
Buffy; Thanks. But it'd help if I could remember what happened. According to Mom, I've been gone for over a year, and I don't remember what happened to me. All I remember was being with the gang, it was important, that much I remember, but what we actually doing, I dunno. It's frustrating, y'know? Giles; I can understand that perfectly. In fact that is why I wish to talk to you now. I want to ask you some simple questions, nothing too personal, and show you some pictures.  
  
Buffy; Oh, you mean ink blots or something? "It looks like two bunnies sharing a carrot." And you decide the carrot is some sort of male substitute, some form of penis envy--  
  
Giles(flushed); Please, Buffy, nothing so dramatic. Simply some photographs of people you know, to determine the extent of your amnesia. I suspect that it's only partial, concerning certain facts and memories your subconscious mind may wish to suppress. I'm sure that you'll regain full memory in time.  
  
Buffy; Okay, Freud. I'm game. Ask away.  
  
Giles; Oh, do you mind if I record this session on video tape? I assure you that this will be strictly confidential.  
  
Buffy; Sure, but if it lands on Playboy, I get fifty percent of the residuals.  
  
Giles(after a pause); Fair enough. First, I'm going to say some words at random. I want you to say the first thing that you think of when you hear each word. First, relax. This isn't a test, there are no wrong answers. Are you comfortable?  
  
Buffy; Hey, bug in a rug here.  
  
Giles; Good. Now then. Sunnydale.  
  
Buffy; A one-Starbuck's town in California. Home sweet home.  
  
Giles; Anything else comes to mind?  
  
Buffy; Uh, U. C. Sunnydale, my college. The Bronze, the closest thing Sunnydale has to a decent hang-out joint?  
  
Giles; Good enough for now. Okay, the next word; Watcher.  
  
Buffy(thinking for a few seconds); Uh, someone who watches something?  
  
Giles; What specifically do you think a watcher watches?  
  
Buffy(immediately); Well, they'd better not be watching me, I'll give them a piece of my mind here. Hmph! Voyeurs.  
  
Giles; Very well. Moving on; Slayer.  
  
Buffy(brightly); A heavy metal band!  
  
Giles; Adam.  
  
Buffy; Hooked up with Eve at the Garden of Eden?  
  
Giles(somewhat exasperated); Angel.  
  
Buffy(after a second); Old boyfriend.  
  
Giles; You remember Angel?  
  
Buffy; Sure. I was in love with him once. At least I thought I was. The one time we made love, he changed though. He became darker, more--Ohh! Man, this is frustrating. I remember our breaking up, and I know now it was right, but the exact moment--Geez, I just can't remember!  
  
Giles; Don't try to force it, Buffy. You suffered no head injury, no physical trauma, your memory should recover itself with time. Just give it time to occur naturally. It will be fine. Are you ready to try some photographs?  
  
Buffy; Sure.  
  
Giles(holding the first photograph); Do you recognize this person?  
  
Buffy; Willow(she grins broadly). Willow Rosenberg.  
  
Giles; You remember Willow. Would you define your relationship with her?  
  
Buffy; Yeah, we have incredible sex together.(Waits a beat, then laughs). Sorry, Giles, but the look on your face--I hope the camera caught that. Okay, serious. I love her. She is the light of my life, the beat of my heart, the wind beneath my wings, and every other damn corny song you could name.  
  
Giles; She is important to you then?  
  
Buffy; I love her, Giles. With all my heart. I remember, it was just before Christmas break, '99. We were talking, I don't know about what, she was bummed about Oz taking off for no reason. We started to share stuff we never said to each other, and one thing led to another, and before we knew it, we were pushing our beds together, then pushing our bodies together... Oops, too explicit for the stuffy British librarian.  
  
Giles(stammering); Oh, no, not at all. I want you to be perfectly honest with me. Now then, this one.(holds another photo).  
  
Joyce; Mom.  
  
Giles; Very good. Now this one.  
  
Buffy(looking at the photo for a second); Riley(makes a rude face).  
  
Giles; You don't seem too fond of Riley, do you?  
  
Buffy; He lied to me. He was in some military unit. Didn't tell me when we were dating. And he was just too smug, to cocky. I dunno. I heard from Willow that he was transferred to Alaska to count penguin eggs or something.  
  
Giles(slight smile on his face); That may be difficult, considering that penguins are indigenous to Antarctica, not Alaska.  
  
Buffy; Hey, amnesiac over here. How the heck am I supposed to know that?  
  
  
  
Giles shut off the tape at that point, saying to Angel, "I think that covers it."  
  
Angel sat on Giles' couch as Giles took the easy chair on the right side. Angel whistled softly as he digested the information on the video. "I see your concern, Giles," he admitted. "Her memory is selective, she knows us, she knows that we were in love, that she loves Willow, but she has no memories directly relating to her being the Slayer."  
  
"Yes," Giles murmured. "It's as though she rewrote her memory to explain her relationships with us, without the supernatural connections." He frowned, adding, "You insist that there is something momentous on the horizon, and I have to believe you. We're going to need Buffy back at her full capacity soon."  
  
"I think you're handling this situation as well as can be expected," Angel argued. "If we were to flat-out tell her that she's the Slayer, that she's spent the last four years of her life fighting vampires and other monsters, who knows what effect that would have on her?"  
  
"Yes, I see your meaning," Giles mused. "Especially her having spent the last year of her life in Hell. I suppose you're right. We must allow her memory to resurface on its own."  
  
"And hope it resurfaces soon," Angel agreed. "She'll be okay, though. Willow's taking her home from the hospital, she'll be staying at Willow's apartment."  
  
"And I'm glad of that, Angel. If anyone can reach her, it would be Willow." Giles sipped at his cup of Earl Grey, and regarded Angel with a mix of awe and purely academic curiosity. "Angel," he started hesitantly. "I feel the need to ask you, what was it like? Going to Hell, I mean." Seeing Angel's head turning away, Giles added, "If it makes you uncomfortable, I--"  
  
"No, Giles," Angel answered. "I mean, it was terrible down there. But--I need to get this out, I haven't told anyone about this, I have to tell someone." He faced Giles, his expression of one on the verge of a revelation, an epiphany. "It changed me, Giles. The demon is gone. Angelus is destroyed."  
  
Giles regarded this last statement with alarm. "Destroyed, you say? How is that possible?"   
  
"I don't know how, I just know that it is," Angel struggled with the words, desperately attempting to describe his experience. Just two days after the journey through Hell, and the memories were deserting him, as though a human mind couldn't encompass the experience of being in Hell. It had to let go of the details, or go mad. All he could remember were fleeting impressions, some of his actions, and the strange sense of being cleansed by Buffy's rescue.   
  
"When we found Buffy," he began, "we were suddenly attacked, and hard. Every demon, every vampire, every evil that Buffy fought had gathered around us, and they were on the attack. Willow had discovered that we could channel our innermost selves, and use that strength to empower us, to fight them. I found myself face to face with Angelus. Like he was trapped in Hell, even though I knew that if I ever weakened, and allowed myself to experience a moment of joy again, he would be loosed. At first I thought that it was just an abstraction, not real. But as I fought, Angelus was able to counter every move. And I couldn't outfight it. I couldn't even cheat. I know it sounds crazy, but it was like that part of me that could fight dirty was gone."  
  
"Not surprising, Angel," Giles commented as he absently rubbed the lenses of his glasses with a pocket handkerchief. "Angelus held sway over your darker instincts. In all likelihood, while the two of you were separate entities, your capacity for guile resided within him, not you."  
  
Angel had to agree with Giles on that score. In the past, guile and deception had been useful tools for him, although he hardly took pleasure in their use. He recalled the time he fooled Faith into thinking that she had been successful in stealing his soul. And just last year, he was able to sneak into the offices of Wolfram and Hart by smuggling a vampire into their lobby, thus distracting him.  
  
But when he fought his dark mirror, he found himself unable to fight on his level. He had channeled the spirits of the famous heroes of the British Isles, or at least his impressions of them; Arthur, Robin Hood, William Wallace, Rob Roy. He had taken on their nobility with their strength, and could only fight honorably.   
  
"I still have to ask you," Giles interrupted his train of thought, "are you certain that Angelus is gone?"  
  
"I am," Angel replied. "And I'll tell you why; when we emerged from the Hellmouth, I felt a lightness in my soul that I hadn't known in all my life, or unlife. When we saw her awake and alert, holding Willow in her arms, I was happy for her." He leaned forward and enunciated each word for maximum clarity; "I. Was. Completely. Happy."  
  
Giles let the enormity of Angel's words sink in. The curse under which he had labored for much of his vampiric life. If he ever knew a moment of complete joy, he would lose his soul, and the demon Angelus would emerge. Giles had experienced this firsthand; when Buffy and Angel had made love for the first and only time, Angelus came out to play. He had tormented Buffy, attacked Willow, tortured Giles and nearly destroyed the world.   
  
"Are you saying," Giles asked in measured tones, "that the curse that bound your soul to you no longer applies?"  
  
"My soul is mine, Giles," Angel answered. "I'm still a vampire, I still have the same strengths and limitations, but my soul is my own." He spoke with less animation and more awe. Like someone commenting on a spectacular sunset. Giles caught this expression of joy in his voice and knew it to be true. The vile Angelus had been forever destroyed. "Heh," he laughed slightly. "If only Kate hadn't declared herself my enemy before this."  
  
"I am happy for you, my friend," Giles declared. "After all the Hell you've been through, you deserve this."  
  
  
  
The rest of the evening was spent discussing how they were going to handle Buffy's amnesia. They agreed that Buffy shouldn't be pushed into remembering the dark details of her life as the Slayer, and that Willow should look after her. Since Willow had planned for Buffy to move in with her at her townhouse, this would be easy enough.   
  
Angel had agreed to stay in Sunnydale for a while longer, and had contacted Wesley in Los Angeles to put him in charge of the detective firm in his absence. Wesley proved to be a capable detective, and with his help, Angel Investigations had turned in a small profit these last few months. They were probably going to have to hire a new secretary, Angel thought with a smile on his face. He recalled how Cordy had clung to Xander when they returned from Hell. And she had told him that she was considering enrolling at U. C. Sunnydale next fall. He smiled inwardly and wished her luck.  
  
As he left Giles' place that night, he felt more complete than he had in centuries. He was still cursed with vampirism, but he had lived with that for so long he was used to it. He no longer had to be careful about losing his soul. He had fought hard for it, he had won it, it was his. And he didn't have to fear that his one great love, his Buffy, would be unhappy. He had seen the joy in her eyes when she held Willow in the hospital. She was truly blest to know Willow, and he was truly happy for them both.  
  
Happy. An unusual condition for him. One he would have to get used to.  
  
A sudden unearthly breeze whipped the hem of his duster jacket. He glanced around, his hypernatural senses working overtime. He held his arms at his sides, ready for anything.  
  
A voice registered on the wind, dark, sweet, full of both promise and menace; "I'm disappointed in you, my Childe. Consorting with the livestock. They're just food, you know. Nothing more." Then the voice was gone.  
  
Angel's earlier sense of peace was shattered by these words. He recognized who spoke to him.   
  
"Darla," he whispered the name of his Sire. The one who brought him into the darkness so many years ago. So, whatever was going to happen, it had begun.  
  
And for the time being, the world was without a Slayer.  
  
FINIS  
  



	2. The Essence of Cool

  
Disclaimers;  
I own Sandra Ogawa, and Mr. Beltaine, and wish I owned the rest. I don't, Joss does. Grr, Arrgh. No money is being made here. My conscience is clean.  
  
Author's note;  
This is the second part of my three-part "Triptych", an interlude between parts 1 and 2 of "Somewhere I Have Never Travelled". A triptych, in case you were wondering, is a three-piece hinged tablet or portrait, usually of a religious nature. Loosely, it can be applied to a work in three parts.  
  
Buffy and Willow aren't in this story, but it is important to read this if you're following my main story arc. A major plot change is in the offing for one of my favorite supporting couples, and a new player enters the field. As Buffy would say, "Can you vague that up for me?"  
  
Oh, and I lifted the "Buffysexual" line from Pat Kelly's "Woes of Myth and Language", a dynamite read. He had Buffy call herself a "Willbian", and I kinda ran with the concept.  
  
Archives;  
If you have "Somewhere I Have Never Travelled" you may as well take this one as well. Just let me know.  
  
Feedback;  
Yes, please. Jim_D_Means@prodigy.net  
  
Summary;  
Xander and Cordy reflect on their past, present and future. But who or what is lurking in the shadows(hey, it's Sunnydale! There's always something lurking in the shadows!) Told from Xander's POV  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
TRIPTYCH:   
Part two  
  
The Essence of Cool  
Written by Kirayoshi  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
To paraphrase the line from the movie "The Yellow Submarine", Sunnydale can be a lonely place on a Saturday night. And it was only Wednesday morning.  
  
Actually, that was a technicality. It had been Wednesday morning for a grand total of twenty minutes. I had just finished my evening beat, Wetherly Park, and had just finished my paperwork at the precinct house, and was on my way home.  
  
I lived in a studio apartment just over the Bronze, and I could feel the vibrations of the music and dance below me whenever I went to sleep. I had a salary that couldn't afford much more in a place, and a job that, by the latest studies, easily contributed to high blood pressure, ulcers and gunshot wounds.  
  
Life was good, actually.  
  
Two nights ago, I had helped save the life of the bravest, most caring, most heroic person I had ever known. Buffy Summers was still in the hospital, under observation, but she was coming home tomorrow. Willow had already cleared out half of her closet for Buffy, and was excited about having her in her digs, and in her bed. I think the old me would have made a joke about her not having gotten any for a year, then she would scowl at me, then I'd shrink a bit, then we'd laugh and move on. Now, I only felt happiness for her. I know I may have had a problem with homosexuality once upon a more chauvinistic time, but one look at Buffy and Willow together would convince even Dr. Laura that they belong together.  
  
Besides, as Willow once explained to me, shortly after they finally got that party started, "I'm not a homosexual, I'm a Buffysexual! I can only do it with Buffy!" She punctuated that remark with the grin of a cat that had swallowed an entire aviary, so I had no room to argue with her. Of course, being Xander Harris, I had to ask if that made Buffy a 'Willowsexual', to which Willow looked at me slyly, and said, "I sure as hell hope so!", dissolving into giggles at the statement.  
  
Hey, all that mattered to me now was that Buffy was back, Willow had an epidemic case of the happies, and life was good. Oh, and Cordy was back in my life.  
  
Ah, Cordelia Chase. I hadn't asked her how her quest for fame and fortune amid the bright lights of Los Angeles went. I assumed that she hadn't yet set the world on fire, or landed her oft-fantasized love scene with Leonardo DiCaprio. I didn't pry, and she didn't volunteer any information, but we did talk about everything else. She was startled first, amazed second, and finally proud of my joining the Sunnydale's Finest, the SPD. She wistfully said something to the effect of "at least one of us has their life in order," which make me worry about her. I didn't say anything, just quietly let her know that if she needed me, I was there.  
  
As I headed back home, I passed through Whetherly Park, once the popular hunting ground of Sunnydale's vamps, but more recently rather quiet. As they say in the movies, `too quiet'. Angel and Cordy had said that something big was happening. I didn't understand these new psychic powers Cordy had developed(she said she got them from an old boyfriend before he died), but I trusted her. She may have been the town rich-bitch, but she was still my friend.  
  
More than my friend, really.  
  
When did that happen, anyway? In high school, we had what could only be called a `volatile' relationship, which ended badly when she caught me lip-locking Willow in the factory after a run-in with Spike. Nope, the Queen C didn't take it well at all. Now she was back in my life, and she seemed to want me back. I was thrilled, I was surprised, and now I was waiting for the other overpriced size six pump to drop.  
  
A sudden snap of a branch caught my attention; my years as a member of the Scooby Gang increased my hearing big time. I spun around, and noticed two young women walking under the street lamps. I recognized them instantly; "Tara, Sandra. Howya doin'?"  
  
"Hey, Officer Harris," Sandra Ogawa greeted me. I held up my hand, and said, "Please, the name's Xander." She blushed prettily. I was pleased that the new Slayer was so polite, but after she had helped anchor us when we dove into the Hellmouth to rescue Buffy, she earned my respect and my friendship. "So, you two out on patrol?"   
  
"Yes, Xander," Tara said. "I wanted to show Sandra around, and maybe show her some defensive spells I've been working on, but it looks like a dead night."  
  
"Yeah, things have been rather quiet lately," I admitted. "I kinda like it that way, myself. Makes for less stress and fewer ulcers. I like it boring."  
  
"Not at all like the old Chinese Curse," Sandra commented. " `May you live in interesting times'."  
  
"Good call, Sandra. You two take care, now." I waved goodbye as the two young Scoobs resumed their vigil.  
  
The new Scoobs. I felt like I was passing a torch to the younger set. Slayerettes; The Next Generation. It felt good. It was great to know that Sunnydale was in good hands.  
  
I couldn't help but notice that they were holding hands. I started to wonder--then decided to head out to my rendezvous  
  
I had promised Cordy that I would meet her at the Espresso Pump before calling it a night. I wasn't sure that she'd wait up past midnight for me; I had warned her that the paperwork might take me a while. I headed for the Pump, and there she was. No longer wearing designer fashions, but a simple off-the-rack blouse and skirt combo. I entered the coffee house and waved at her. She smiled at me, her smile natural and happy.   
  
"Hey, Cordy, how's life?" I asked as I kissed her forehead. At least I aimed for the forehead, to be polite. But she lifted her head at the right time, and I caught her lips. We lingered there for a second, before I backed away. "Sorry about that," I started.  
  
"Why," she gave me a Cheshire Cat grin, "I'm not." Yep, she still liked to keep me guessing. I sat down next to her, and noticed her drink. "Chai tea, decaf" she said. "Sort of an east Indian tea, served latte style."  
  
"Sounds good," I answered. "I'll do that." I ordered a chai tea, and sipped at it. Sweet, but not too sweet, creamy, generously spiced. I liked it at once. "You've still got good taste," I commented. I noticed the newspaper on the table in front of her. "Whatcha looking at?"  
  
"Apartment listings," she said casually.  
  
I stopped sipping at my tea and turned to her. "Sunnydale apartment listings?"  
  
"No, Paris," she said with sweet sarcasm. Yea, that's the Queen C I know and lo--did I say that? "I thought I'd do the `bum around Europe and try to find myself' routine."  
  
I considered my next statement carefully. Sometimes talking to Cordy was the conversational equivalent of slow dancing with a porcupine. She cut me off before I started; "Before you ask, Xander," she said, a little weariness in her voice, "I've given up my quest for super- stardom. I've enrolled in U.C. Sunnydale, majoring in education, minoring in dramatic arts, I applied for a college grant and I think I'm in, and I just landed a late-night job here at the Espresso Pump. I start tomorrow on cash-register."  
  
"Hey," I said, "congratulations." She nodded at me, and smiled a little. "Hey, if you're looking for a place to crash, there are a couple of vacant units where I live."  
  
"You mean, over the Bronze?" she wrinkled her nose distastefully.  
  
"Hey, it's not that loud at night. Besides you're working nights too, you won't notice. Plus, you've got a cop living next door."  
  
"Aha, so the ulterior motive rears its ugly head," she grinned at me again, and we both found ourselves laughing briefly. "I missed you, Xand."  
  
"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Don't get me wrong, I was glad to have her back too, I just wanted to know why she wanted me in her life again.  
  
"You're not like the jerks I met in L.A. The only real guy there was Angel, and, you know, happiness clause. You're real. You're basic."  
  
"Hey, hey, hey," I stopped her. "You just quoted Ione Skye in `Say Anything'."  
  
"Hey, I liked that movie," she defended herself. "I used to fantasize about John Cusack standing outside my bedroom window, hoisting a boombox over his head, playing `In Your Eyes' by Peter Gabriel--"  
  
"Would you settle for `Planet Claire' by the B-52s?" She dimpled at my words. I then serioused up, saying, "Of course, I figured I got more out of our old relationship than you did. I mean, here I was, going out with Cordelia Chase, while you were stuck with Xander Harris. Hardly bragging rights there."  
  
"Stop that now, Xander," she suddenly placed her hand on mine. "You're still the nicest guy I ever met. Braver than most guys, I mean, you've joined the police force, not to mention going to Hell to save Buffy. You've done some good, you've made something of yourself. That's what I want. It wasn't working with the acting, I figured out that I wasn't going to be accepting an Oscar any time soon, and I sure as hell wasn't going to drop my pants for some made-for-video sexfest. You know, my last five offers were for soft-core parodies of `The Blair Witch Project'? That's when I knew I had to get out of there."  
  
"Hey," I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry it didn't pan out."  
  
"I'm not," she said ruefully. "I'm just glad I got out with my sanity intact. That's why I'm back her in Sunnydale. After Daddy got arrested for tax evasion--another point I have in common with Ione Skye from `Say Anything'--I thought I needed to get away, to redeem myself on my own. But being here, with my friends--not Harmony and the other sheep that followed me in high school but my real friends, Willow, Buffy," she dropped her eyes slightly and added shyly, "you, it jelled for me. I was trying to live my life by what everyone thought of me, not what I thought of myself. Now, I got a chance. I'd like to teach, maybe drama, maybe something else. And hey, if I can land a few roles in some local community theater, just enough to feed my ego, I can be happy with that."  
  
"Okay," I grinned, "who are you and what have you done with Cordelia Chase?" We both laughed at that. "Seriously, Cordy," I added, "I know what you're going through. I spent the first year out of high school in a void, just hanging out in my parents' basement, drifting from job to job, having Anya screw my brains out--" I stopped her before she could say it, "I know, no challenge. Y'know, I don't think I even noticed when she finally walked out on me. But once I realized that she was gone, it was like a splash of cold water. It woke me up. That's when I started to turn it around, to get my life back on track. That's when I decided to become a cop. Maybe it's wish-fulfillment, but it's something that matters to me. Besides, it's about time at least one cop in Sunnydale wasn't clueless."  
  
Cordy regarded me thoughtfully for a few seconds, and said, "Looks like you finally found it."  
  
"It? What `it'?" I asked.  
  
Cordy sighed lightly as she explained it to me. "That night I called you the team Zeppo, you had asked me what it was that decided who was cool and who was not. You're exact words were, `What is the essence of cool?'. I never quite understood it myself until recently. Self-confidence. That's the essence of cool. If you have that, then no matter who you are, what you do, how you dress--" she appraised me up and down, "yeah, even your God-awful Hawaiian shirts, you're cool."  
  
I glanced at my watch. "Lessee, twelve-forty-three a.m., June 28, 2001. Cordelia Chase called Alexander LaVelle Harris cool." I stood up and announced to the otherwise empty espresso bar, "Let this be recorded for all posterity, she who used to decide all matters of coolness at Sunnydale High has declared me to be cool!" Cordy whooped with laughter as I continued my rave.   
  
"Sit down, Xander," she admonished me. "I always thought that you were cool. I was just too afraid that I'd be uncool if word got out. That brings me back to that self-confidence thing. You think I'd hang out with Harmony and those others if I had any self-confidence? I needed them to boost my ego, not because I liked them." She patted my hand, and added, "And for what it's worth, I never thought of you as Zeppo. You may not be the Slayer, or a Witch or anything like that, but you kept us together as much as anyone else. I always envied your ability to take what the Hellmouth threw at you and still crack a bad joke about it. And I always admired that. And loved that about you." She touched my cheek with her hand, and said, "I love you, Zeppo. It took me two years in Lala Land to figure it out, but I do." She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.  
  
I had not expected her confession, the depth of emotion she demonstrated, but as her lips met mine, I knew it was right. I, Xander Harris, knew that she wasn't holding anything back, she wasn't hiding behind the mask of Queen C, that Queen C was as dead as the Zeppo. And it felt good.  
  
As our lips parted, I could feel the silence build between us. I needed to say something, either a trademark wisecrack or my own confession of my feelings for Cordy. I had to say something, just so that something was said.  
  
"Marry me."  
  
Cordy looked at me, dazed. "What?"  
  
I realized what I had said, and blushed. "I said that out loud, didn't I?" Cordy glanced away from me, and lowered her head. I had to regroup fast. "Look, Cordy, I love you too, and yeah, I do want us to be together. But before we go any further, I need to warn you. I'm a cop now. That's dangerous work, and not the best paying job on the planet. I'd hardly be able to afford the lifestyle you were used to with your dad."  
  
"Neither could he," she observed. "That's why he's in Club Fed."  
  
"Okay, good point. But the thing is, I'm saving what I can, and I'm sure I'll get paid more as I advance in the department. Besides, you just got back in town, and we should take this slow. Not dead stop, just slow. So here's what I propose; we go out, we date, and the earlier marriage proposal is still there. It's on the table, it still stands. If after a while you decide that it's what you want, then fine. If not, then, not fine, but at least we tried, okay?"  
  
She looked at me as though I had grown a second head. "Are you finished channeling Willow?" she asked. She then took my head in her hands and pulled it toward hers for another kiss, more urgent than the last one. She pulled me away again and said, "Yes, Xander Harris, I will marry you!"  
  
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I stared at Cordy for a full five seconds before I said anything. "You said yes. Right?"  
  
She nodded enthusiastically.  
  
"You do understand the idea of going slow, right?"  
  
"Yes," she nodded again. "I also know when something is right, and when to go for it. We, Xander Harris, are right. I know we won't be able to get married right away, but I do want to share my life with you. You got a problem with that?"  
  
I felt the blood rush to my brain and started feeling a little light headed. I managed to say something like, "Uh, yeah, no, no prob, problem not here, you marry, I will, I--" At least that's probably what emerged from my lips; I had planned something eloquent and romantic, but the interface between my brain and my mouth tends to get disengaged in situations of extreme stress. Like when I'm caught in the shower belting out James Brown in my underwear. Or when my girlfriend catches me kissing my best friend in the library.  
  
Or when the girl of my dreams says that she wants to be mine forever.  
  
I managed to stop stammering like an idiot long enough to kiss her again, and that seemed to say everything that I wanted to. We held each other and kissed repeatedly, just happy to have found each other again. I was able to look at her for a few moments, and say, "I know I didn't say it well before, but I do love you, Cordelia Chase-Harris-to-be."  
  
"I love you too, Xander Harris," she whispered to me. We noticed the night manager of the Espresso Pump looking at us, and we tried to compose ourselves, but still had this compulsion to hold hands constantly. I made motions to pay for our chai lattes, but the manager stopped me; "Hey, it's on the house tonight. Congratulations you two."  
  
As we left the Pump, we chatted aimlessly about everything and nothing. We didn't decide anything major beyond the actual fact of our engagement, but it didn't matter. Cordy asked me if I wanted to start on wedding plans right away, but I was happy to just live with the idea for a while. Besides, there was one thing I had to do before anything else. "The first thing I do once I have the money scraped together," I announced, "is get you an engagement ring. A nice fancy one."  
  
"Hey," she smiled at me, "you don't have to go too far there. Just a nice simple gold band, solitaire, five carats."  
  
"Hoo-boy," I breathed, "I think I can afford five carrots right now, if you're wild about produce--"  
  
"Kidding," Cordy laughed. "Tell you what, once you and I both scrape together enough, we'll go to the jeweler's together and pick out something nice. Believe me, two years working for Angel has taught me to economize, and shouldn't you be listening to your fiancee now?"  
  
"Shh," I motioned to her. "I thought I heard something." I stepped forward, hoping it was just Sandra and Tara wrapping up their patrol. Cordy and I stood quietly for a few seconds, until I heard the rustling of leaves behind us.   
  
We turned and saw a man standing behind us. My first thought was "Barnabus Collins". Tall, gaunt, sunken cheeks, but he still held his form high, and his eyes gleamed with intelligence, with determined fire. Wavy brown hair crowned his head, and he leaned stiffly against a brass tipped cane. He regarded me with obsidian eyes, and said to me, "Alexander LaVelle Harris. Greetings. And you," he bowed formally at the dark-haired girl who clamped down on my arm, "must be Cordelia Chase." He tipped his hat toward her.   
  
"Hello," I said to the stranger, as I started to reach for the crucifix I kept in my pocket. "Do we know you?" "Not at this time, Mr. Harris," he said civilly, "but you will soon enough. And yes, I am a vampire, but you have no reason to fear me."Cordy gasped beside me, and I echoed her sentiment. "I, like your associate Angel, am possessed of a soul. I do not regard you as my enemy. Whether you regard me as your enemy is up to you."  
  
I had managed to grab the crucifix, and held it in front of the stranger. He stepped back at the sight of the cross, but still didn't leave yet. "I didn't expect to win your trust this night," he said, and I could hear a hint of sadness in his voice. "But I do need you to warn your friend the Slayer that there is a power afoot. Inform your Watcher, Rupert Giles I believe, that Mister Beltaine must speak to him. I will contact him in time. Good evening, and congratulations on your engagement." He tipped his hat to us again, turned and started to walk away. "May you live long enough to see your wedding day."  
  
I started to chase after him as he walked away, but I was stopped by a sudden mist that arose out of nowhere. When I blinked, the mist disappeared, taking Mr. Beltaine with him.  
  
Cordy rushed up to me, as I looked around for this strange vampire. "What was that about?" she asked, clearly shaken.  
  
"I don't know, Cordy," I answered. I was as shaken as she was, but more than that, I was angry. This Beltaine person ruined a perfect evening, and took the luster off of my engagement to Cordy. But seeing her, looking at me with her worried eyes, put things in a little more perspective. She was looking to me to make her less scared, and I think hoped to make me less scared as well. We both held and calmed each other, as we wondered what we were going to do about Mr. Beltaine.  
  
We agreed to speak to Giles tomorrow. We figured that he was asleep by now, and besides, there was nothing we could do about it tonight. At any rate, I wanted to spend a little more time alone with the woman I was going to marry. We were still happy just to be together, but the sense of dread that this new vampire left behind still wouldn't let us go.  
  
So, where do I stand now? I lived in a studio apartment just over the Bronze, and I could feel the vibrations of the music and dance below me whenever I went to sleep. I had a salary that couldn't afford much more in a place, and a job that, by the latest studies, easily contributed to high blood pressure, ulcers and gunshot wounds. I had met someone who could be as great a threat as Acaltha, Adam or the Master was. And Cordy and I were at this time the only people who were aware of this new development.  
  
And an angel named Cordelia Chase had agreed to share her life with me.  
  
Yeah, life was good.  
  
  



	3. Who Watches the Watchers?

  
Disclaimers; It's Joss Whedon's world, I'm just escaping reality here. I own Sandra Ogawa and Denise Parkinson, so if I see them in someone else's work without my permission, there's gonna be trouble.  
  
Spoilers; Not really, although this story does have a take on "Restless".   
  
Rating; PG  
  
Author's note; This is the third and final part in my digression from the main story, "Triptych". This one centers on Giles and Denise, with Buffy and Willow at the end (hey, it's their story!) Trust me, the final piece of the puzzle is in this text.  
  
Thanks a-plenty to Shyfox for beta-reading this for me. I also wish to acknowledge Thomas Cahill for his marvelous work, "How The Irish Saved Civilization", from which I borrowed some of the finer points of this story. If you steal from one source, it's plagiarism. If you steal from many sources, it's research.  
  
And to any Christians out there, I apologize in advance. I'm not attacking Christianity in general, just the intolerance that underlined Christianity during the Dark Ages. I believe in Christ too. I like His style.  
  
Summary; Denise and Giles start work on rebuilding the fragmented Watcher's Council, and Giles learns a hard lesson in Council history. And Buffy and Willow dream...  
  
  
  
TRIPTYCH   
Part three  
  
Who Watches The Watchers?  
Written by Kirayoshi  
  
  
Giles had spent the last hour scanning the pertinent texts that Denise Parkinson had selected for him. His cup of Earl Grey sat beside the books, forgotten and now room temperature. His eyes were growing bleary and twice he felt the need to wipe the lenses of his glasses with a napkin. When he could read no more, he looked up and saw Denise waiting for him to finish, a look of infinite patience on black woman's face.  
  
"Where did you obtain this text?" Giles asked cautiously, both suspecting and dreading her answer. Her answer confirmed both his suspicions and his fears.  
  
"The Biblioteca Secreta."  
  
Giles tensed as he heard these words. The secret library of the Watcher's Council. "How did you manage to sneak this book past Council security?"  
  
Denise looked around her, innocently. "Large weather we're having, isn't it?"  
  
Giles nodded understandingly; evidently she had no desire to incriminate herself or anyone else. "Denise, I was led to understand that the biblioteca secreta was a storage ground for black tomes. Satanic rites, chaos magicks, the original draft of the Necronomicon. Dark works to be shielded from prying eyes." He shuddered at the thought of someone plundering the Council's secret archives for its evil magicks. He knew his onetime mate and now enemy Ethan would have given his soul(had he not sold it to the devil long before) for even the most minor tome of the archive.  
  
"Yes, Rupert, we were all told that," Denise answered levelly. "And indeed, there are many texts and scrolls in the secret archives that must be kept from the eyes of the world. But the Council, in their infinite wisdom, have chosen to conceal the Greater Book of the Goddess, which you hold in your hand, as well as many other texts, dating all the way back to the time of the Pharaohs. These texts had been the very foundation of the Watcher's Council, yet you and I are the first people in nearly nine centuries to look upon these pages."  
  
"I'm honored," he coughed nervously. "But I am still having difficulty translating the whole of the marked text. I assume that you have had better luck."  
  
"I have, Giles," she answered as she moved from her chair to a space behind Giles, looking over his shoulder. "This passage here," she pointed, "can you read it?"  
  
"I can," Giles answered, as he re-read the runic script;  
  
"That She who is Chosen  
Never forget the charge of the Goddess,  
Let her seek comrades,  
Those who shall aid her,  
Those who shall befriend her,  
Those who shall remind her  
Of her purpose."  
  
"And it gets a little muddled after that," Giles admitted. "Eighth Century Celtic Runic script was never my strong suit."  
  
"I understand," Denise said as she took the text from Giles' hands. "My weak point was Sumerian. But you can understand the implications."  
  
Giles pursed his lips in thought. "Yes," he whistled. "All these years, I was taught that the Slayer, the Chosen One, must fight alone, yet this book indicates that the Slayer must have allies. Hmph," he laughed briefly to himself. "In spite of my best efforts, it seems that Buffy had gotten it right all along. I had recently suspected that Buffy was stronger by her association with the Slayerettes."  
  
"Exactly, Ripper," Denise smiled. "By surrounding herself with friends willing to fight alongside her, she is made stronger. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Her friends serve to remind her why she continues to fight." She sat down next to Giles and added, "That's one reason I brought Sandra to Sunnydale after she graduated from high school. To introduce her to Buffy's friends, and hopefully help her find her own support group."  
  
"It seems to have worked. I noticed that Tara seems quite fond of her. But what of the last portion?"  
  
"The last stanza, I believe, goes--" Denise read;  
  
"Let her seek a lifemate,  
One of great power for good.  
For each Chosen One,  
A mage shall be chosen as well.  
The Chosen and the Mage must  
Each seek out the other,  
And stand fast together,  
Against all adversaries.  
Let them live together,  
Let them fight together,  
Let them love together,  
For all time."  
  
She regarded Giles with a sly grin; "What were you saying about Tara and Sandra?"  
  
"This book," Giles whispered, "was an early instruction manual for Slayers, then?" Denise nodded. "And it is saying that the Slayer must bond with another, a mage?"  
  
Denise nodded again. "I've translated most of the pertinent texts, and there seems to be no doubt. The Slayer and the Mage will be stronger together than either would be alone. Admit it, Giles, would Buffy have survived alone, without Willow?" Giles thought for a second, a second was all it took to make him understand. "No, I don't suppose she would. I had always been fearful of Willow's participation. She always seemed so fragile, so unsure of herself, especially in high school." "She wasn't unsure of herself the other night," Denise observed. "From what Xander and Angel told me, it was Willow who freed Buffy's soul from Hell. No mean feat, Ripper."  
  
"She was motivated, that much was certain," Giles admitted. "And the year we thought Buffy gone, she was a ghost of her former self. Walking wounded. She was quite literally lost without Buffy."  
  
"Precisely. The text indicates that the Slayer and the Mage would 'share a soul', would be soulmates. Two halves of one entity. It's not a coincidence that the symbol Willow chose to represent her love for Buffy was a Mizpah coin. Two halves of the same whole." She carefully turned the parchment pages to another marked passage. "This part gives the instructions for a formal joining ritual or handfasting. Essentially a Slayer Wedding. Once Buffy regains her memory, it might not be a bad idea for her and Willow to look at this passage."  
  
"You may be right. But why was this information not revealed before?"  
  
"Politics, mostly," Denise answered. "The information in this text was passed down from the fifth century, orally. And like most oral tradition, every detail was preserved painstakingly from one telling to the next. This text was written in the Eighth century AD, when Patricus, the man who would later be known as Saint Patrick, brought the knowledge of the fading Roman Empire to Ireland. When Ireland learned to write, their scribes copied every work they could get their hands on. That's where we got the Book of Kells. It's also how many texts were salvaged after the Fall of Rome.  
  
"But with this new knowledge came the spread of Christianity. The Irish were possibly the first people to accept Christ freely, without being conquered by Rome. As Christianity spread, paganism was on the decline. And Christians still hold the idea of same-sex unions as anathema. This text was considered an open invitation for homosexuality."  
  
"So the Watcher's Council at the time censored the text?" Giles guessed.   
  
"Not censored, Rupert, but simply hid." She closed the book slowly, handling the ancient codex with reverence. "The basis of these tomes, of much of the Watcher's Council, predates Christianity. Did you know, for example, that vampires derive pain from exposure to any religious talisman, not just the crucifix? If my studies are correct, the symbol is even stronger when the wielder believes in its significance." She cocked an aristocratic eyebrow at the thought; "Maybe Willow should consider wielding a Star of David instead of a cross. Even the Mizpah coin she wears would be just as effective."  
  
"Intriguing," Giles muttered. "And it makes sense; vampires existed long before most humans, let alone Christianity. But why was this information suppressed?"  
  
Denise chuckled, "Because, my dear Ripper, history has always been written by the winning side. The Biblioteca Secreta was founded during the Crusades, as a direct result of King Richard Couer'De Leone himself. Old Lionheart heard about this cabal of 'unwashed pagans', supposedly trafficking with demons and devils, and threatened to put them to the torch. The Council responded by creating this pro-Christian mythos around them; crosses against vampires, all other religious artifacts are the work of demons. And sadly, this medieval mentality still holds sway within the Council, and the rest of the world. The Burning Times are never as far back as we would like to think."  
  
Giles put his elbows on the table, and let his hands support his head. He remembered an incident just a few years back, where a demon created the illusion of two children, killed in an occult attack, to stir up paranoia in Sunnydale, controlling the minds of most of the adult populace. Before the nightmare was over, Joyce Summers and Sheila Rosenberg led the townspeople in burning their own daughters, Buffy and Willow, at the stake. Indeed, he knew that the mentality of the Burning Times was alive and well, needing only the slightest provocation to resurface.   
  
"This is weighty stuff, my friend," he said to Denise. "I trust that this has something to do with your plans to rebuild the Watcher's Council?"  
  
"Indeed," she said. "With your help, of course. Right now, you are the most respected figure among the remaining Watchers. If you were to declare yourself senior watcher, the others would follow your lead. You have the opportunity to do some good here."  
  
"I thank you for your confidence in me, Denise, but I don't know. I've had enough difficulty dealing with Buffy, let alone the entire council."  
  
"Believe me, I don't wish to put more pressure on your shoulders. But the two of us together, we could start building the administrative branch, the core group. We would need to find established Watchers, people whom we could trust. I understand that Wesley Price is working with Angel these days. Do you think he would be able to assist us?"  
  
"Perhaps," Giles mused. "And despite Buffy's hostility toward him, he was a good Watcher. Just at a bad time." Giles pondered the offer he had received some more. "The world still has need of a Watcher's Council," he said, half to himself. He smiled broadly. "And I need a challenge. Denise, count me in."  
  
The two Watchers shook hands, cementing a pact that they hoped would change the world.  
  
And outside Giles' townhouse, looking in through the bay window, a surly British vampire with a severe crew cut pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply, depositing a black patch in the back of his throat.   
  
Soon, Spike would inform his new master of the resurrection of the Council. His master, the one who had removed the chip that forbade him from harming others, would know how to deal with this information.  
  
The war was coming, of that much Spike was certain. And he had no idea how it would turn out.  
  
He grinned sardonically at himself. "That's what makes it interesting, mate."  
  
  
  
Approximately 25,000 BC;  
  
The Slayer emerged from the rude shelter of her cave, clad only in a ceremonial loin cloth. She looked at the sky around her. The sun had set, casting its last rays upon some drifting clouds, tinting them dark red. Blood red. The blood tribe would emerge soon, and she would have to again defend her tribe from them.  
  
But first, the ritual. The event for which she had prepared for the last five moons. The joining.  
  
Her chieftain emerged from his hut, and greeted her stiffly. He took her hand and led her to the sacred place, the place where the bones of her ancestors were lain in the earth.  
  
Unlike her darker haired fellows, the Slayer was born with hair the color of the sun. This marked her as special, as chosen of the gods. She was to serve the gods all of her life, defending the tribe against the evils of the night. And in serving the gods, she was destined to bond with the tribal Shamaness.  
  
The Shamaness waited patiently for her Slayer. She too was singled out by destiny. Her hair was the color of fire, indicating that she was chosen to speak for the gods. While she was the ears and voice of the gods, the Slayer was their strength, their right arm. In serving and loving each other, the Slayer and the Shamaness would better serve the gods. It was the way of things.  
  
Once they reached the sacred place, the chieftain gave the Slayer's hand to the Shamaness. The Shamaness took the Slayer's face in her hands, and pressed her lips to the Slayer's in greeting. She then picked up a small clay pot of red dye, and dipped her right thumb into the pot. With her thumb, she marked the Slayer's forehead and nose. She then painted across her breasts and belly. The marks would fade soon, but the gods would always see them. She was marked by the gods, and was theirs. As she was now the Shamaness'.   
  
The two women smiled at each other, as they withdrew to the Shamaness' tent. The second part of the joining was less ritualized, and more private, but much more pleasurable for both Slayer and Shamaness. The two women, no longer subject and priestess but equals and lovers, discarded their scant coverings, and brought their bodies together on the sleeping mat. The chieftain smiled at himself, and left the two women alone to consummate their ritual marriage.  
  
  
  
Willow woke up suddenly, her heart racing, a sheen of sweat covering her body. She was aware of the scent of her arousal. "Whoa," she said aloud.   
  
Her dream had been intense, and highly erotic. She was a pagan priestess, and Buffy was her disciple and lover. They had performed some ritualistic marriage, and had made raw animal love together. Even now, she could still recall how her dream-Buffy had touched her. A small portion of her mind made a record of those thoughts, to remember those touches and try them out on Buffy tomorrow night.  
  
She quickly dismissed her fears regarding the dream. She was just jumpy. Tomorrow, Buffy Summers would be back home, with her. She had made all the preparations for Buffy to move in with her, and would make the offer once she saw the townhouse. She knew that Buffy wouldn't decline her offer. Yeah, that was all the dream was. Pent-up sexual frustration. Well, she wasn't going to be frustrated tomorrow night, that was for sure.  
  
  
  
Buffy woke up suddenly in her hospital bed, her breath coming in shallow pants, the last spasms of a powerful orgasm still shaking her limbs. "Wow," was all that she could say. That was some dream.  
  
She was Raquel Welch from "One Million Years B.C." and Willow was some kind of priestess, who was also her lover. They had performed some ritual together, before a session of pure passionate sex. She tried to figure out the source of her strange dream. Did it have anything to do with the memory gaps that had eluded her since her return?  
  
She curled up again in her bed and made herself relax. She was just antsy about seeing Willow tomorrow. Would she still want her? She had said as much since she awoke a few days ago. She hoped that Willow wouldn't change her mind. She needed Willow like she needed oxygen.   
  
And tomorrow, she and Willow would be together again. And as far as she was aware, life was good.  
  
FINIS--for now...  
  
  
  



End file.
